On this day in 410 the unthinkable happened: barbarian invaders broke into Rome and sacked the eternal city, and a shudder went through the entire ancient world. For nearly 800 years, since a Gallic raid in the distant past, no foreign enemy had taken Rome. The city had grown into the mythic heart of a Mediterranean empire, the place that conquered everyone else. That it could itself be plundered seemed impossible, an inversion of the natural order.
The man who did it was Alaric, king of the Visigoths. His people were not simple raiders but a Gothic nation that had lived for years inside the Roman Empire, serving in its armies and demanding land and payment that the treacherous, incompetent western government kept promising and denying. Twice Alaric had besieged Rome to force a deal, and twice been cheated by the emperor Honorius, who sat safe behind the marshes of Ravenna and would not negotiate in good faith. The third time, Alaric lost patience. On the night of 24 August someone opened the Salarian Gate from the inside, and the Goths poured in.
By the brutal standards of the age, the sack was almost restrained. It lasted three days. The Goths, who were Christians themselves, largely spared the great churches and those who sheltered in them, and there was no wholesale massacre of the population. But they stripped the city of its portable wealth, looted its palaces and treasures, burned some buildings, and carried off captives, including the emperor's own sister. Rome, the untouchable, had been violated.
The psychological blow was far greater than the physical one. Rome was no longer even the capital, real power had moved to Ravenna and Constantinople, but it was still the soul of the Roman world, and its fall felt like the end of an age. Pagans blamed the Christians for abandoning the old gods, and Christians were forced to answer. Out of that crisis Saint Augustine wrote his monumental City of God, arguing that no earthly city was eternal, only the city of God. Alaric himself died within months, and his people moved on to found a kingdom in Gaul and Spain. But the sack of 410 has echoed ever since as one of the great symbolic hinges of history, the day the Roman Empire's aura of invincibility died and the long slide from antiquity into the Middle Ages became impossible to ignore.
El caballo blanco es una de las obras cumbres de Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida, pintada al óleo sobre lienzo en el verano de 1909.
Esta pieza monumental de 205 × 250 cm captura la esencia del luminismo valenciano y se resguarda de forma permanente en el Museo Sorolla en Madrid.
La obra retrata un momento cotidiano de la costa: un adolescente desnudo guiando por la brida a un imponente caballo blanco que sale del mar tras refrescarse o ayudar en las labores de las barcas pesqueras.
Sorolla sitúa la perspectiva muy alta, a la altura de los ojos del muchacho. Al inclinar el objetivo visual hacia el agua, la línea del horizonte se reduce a una estrecha franja superior.
De este modo, evita el deslumbramiento directo del cielo y concentra toda la atención en los reflejos sobre la orilla.
Aunque el animal es llamado "blanco", la realidad es que el pelaje mojado absorbe la luz del entorno.
Sorolla utiliza una rica gama de azules, grises, e incluso destellos de naranja en el vientre del equino para simular el reflejo exacto de la arena húmeda.
La piel brillante de los protagonistas, el goteo del agua y la espuma marina están resueltos con empastes gruesos y pinceladas sueltas y largas.
El cuadro captura con tal fidelidad el momento natural que el lienzo original conserva pequeños granos de arena de la playa del Cabañalincrustados en sus pigmentos.
El pintor sentía un aprecio tan profundo por este lienzo de su etapa de madurez que, a pesar del abrumador éxito que tuvo en sus exhibiciones por Estados Unidos en 1911, nunca quiso venderlo y prefirió conservarlo en su propio estudio de trabajo hasta el final de sus días.